Umbrella
by gemstone1234
Summary: A few ideas I got while listening to All Time Low's song 'Umbrella'. The name seemed perfect so I had to write something. Mainly angst, a few feature John.


**Umbrella**

_When I write this I'm listening to All Time Low's version. Some of you may like Rihanna's, not that I have anything against her, I just prefer All Time Low._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters, if I did the world would know. Nor do I own the song Umbrella although I do love it._

_Author's note: This is probably a load of rubbish but when the thought came to me I knew that I had to at least write something, the title was just perfect. If anyone feels inspired to steal the idea feel free, I enjoy reading more than I do writing. Also I've had to twist the lyrics to make this not too dodgy but I think it works._

**You had my heart,**

**And we'll never be worlds apart**

"Why the hell are you following me to London Mycroft? I want to be alone, to fend for myself, not stalked by my own family." The elder Holmes brother rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"I am not stalking you Sherlock, I am going to London due to a, well you could say, promotion which means I am required there."

"We both know that was set up by Father and becoming the British government is slightly more than a promotion I'd say."

"And why on Earth, Sherlock, would I ever want to follow you to London? I have my own life you know and following you like a lost puppy is not part of it."

"Let's be honest, you would never be able to keep up with me. How is the diet going by the way?"

"Fine, Sherlock, it's just fine, stop being so childish."

There was a brief pause; Sherlock did not appreciate being referred to as a child especially as in a few days he was leaving home. "You're only doing this so you can spy on me," muttered Sherlock miserably. _Finally_ thought Mycroft, _we get to the root of the problem._

"Sherlock look at me," he ordered in an oddly gentle voice and Sherlock complied. "I am your brother and believe it or not I do care about you."

"And you show it brilliantly," said the younger of the brothers sarcastically. Mycroft growled in warning and Sherlock shut his mouth.

"As I was saying I do care about you. I am moving to London due to a promotion, I will occupy a minor position in the British government." When Sherlock opened his mouth Mycroft shot him a warning look. "Admittedly being near to you will give me some sense of comfort, I worry about you constantly Sherlock."

"I thought caring is not an advantage," said Sherlock suddenly confused.

"It is not but sometimes it cannot be helped, you are one of few people for whom I care."

"I'm not a child, I can look after myself. There is no need to worry."

"You are right, you are not a child but you cannot look after yourself. You're underweight now and the slightest distraction you will not eat at all; it will not cross your supposedly brilliant mind."

"Someone has to make up for your overindulgence."

"Sherlock! Listen for once in your life will you? I am glad we will be living in the same city, it means I can make sure you're not unwittingly killing yourself. Do you understand that? Do you remember when Father, Mummy and I went to France for ten days last year and you stayed because you had exams?" At this Sherlock had the decency to look down. _At least he realises he was stupid then _Mycroft thought. "And when we came back we found you unconscious on the floor and almost all the food we left was still there? Do you remember the time spent in hospital?" Sherlock nodded. "Good, I want to make sure that never happens again. Do you understand?" Once again Sherlock nodded.

**When the sun shines **

**we'll shine together**

**told you I'll be here forever**

**said I'll always be your friend**

**took an oath**

**I'mma stick it out 'till the end**

Mycroft rang the bell to 221B Baker Street and a few moments later a short man in a fluffy jumper opened the door with a relieved expression on his face. As soon as the door was opened a dishevelled looking Sherlock ran past, hurried up the stairs and slammed the door at the top behind him. Emanating from behind the shut door came lots of banging noises. John turned his attention back towards Mycroft. "Is he ok? I got a call from Lestrade."

"I think this is a danger night, you need to keep an eye on him." John nodded in understanding.

"What happened?"

"Nobody was making much sense and Sherlock wouldn't say anything but from what I could gather it had something to do with that Anderson fellow." At this John let out a growl. "Yes, quite," Mycroft added in agreement.

"It sounds like Sherlock said something about his and Ms Donovan's, um, discrete relationship when they were alone in a room at a crime scene. He got angry and began to throw punches at Sherlock. As you know my brother is somewhat lacking in body mass, apparently more so recently, as he could not fend him off and was knocked out by him. Turns out he stole my brother's clothes, all of them, tied him up and locked him in the cupboard in the room. Now, you should understand this would be a disturbing situation for anyone to wake up in but for my brother it is worse. I will not disclose any details, if my brother wants you to know he must be the one to tell you, it is not for me to tell. I will just say he did have a bad experience, or a few of them, when he was a child which left some emotional scarring. Anyway, this Anderson chap told Lestrade Sherlock had upped and left and of course Lestrade believed him, why shouldn't he? What with my brother's normal behaviour. He woke up thirty minutes later and panicked. Lestrade found him when the banging started, he was tied up with some rope Anderson had found somewhere and gagged. Greg got him back into his clothes then managed to get his phone. He tried to call you but then called me when you didn't pick up.

John looked positively horrified at this story and Mycroft looked saddened. "Um, thanks for taking him home," said John to break the awkward silence. "I should probably go up and check on him. You can come up if you want to." Mycroft nodded in confirmation and followed John up the stairs, the click, click; click of his umbrella against the ground seemed to fill the silence. Sherlock had decided that upon entering the flat lying face down on the sofa had been the best course of action and John rushed to his side leaving Mycroft standing in the doorway.

"I'll make tea," he said as if it would solve all of the world's problems and John nodded as a means of thanks before turning his attention back to the man of the sofa. After forcing Sherlock to look at him the doctor could see some nasty bruises forming on his cheek and a nasty black eye was forming. He had a split lip and blood had dried from where his head had made contact with the floor, upon further investigation John concluded that the wound would hurt but would not need stitching. He hurried to the kitchen and took out a bag of frozen peas from behind the pair of lungs in the freezer and retrieved some mild pain killers and antiseptic from a drawer. Mycroft handed him two cups of tea which somehow John manages to hold. "How is he?" asked Mycroft, more concerned than John had ever seen him.

"Physically, he's a bit bashed up and it'll hurt like hell in the morning but he's fine. Emotionally, I don't know, he hasn't said a word.

Mycroft watched from the kitchen, sipping his tea, as he watched John helping his brother sit up and handed him his cup of tea which Sherlock curled up around, absorbing its warmth, he was visibly shaking. The doctor tenderly placed the pills in the detectives hand so he could take them if he wanted, dabbed the wounds with the antiseptic and held the bad of peas against the head wound to prevent it from swelling. He could see John was whispering words of comfort to his little brother and Mycroft felt a pang of nostalgia. Sherlock used to let him look after him if needed help. The last time that had happened was when Sherlock was eight and Mycroft was fifteen. They used to be so close but then their uncle had ruined all of that, Sherlock had retreated into himself. After that Sherlock and Mycroft no longer laughed together and no longer comforted each other. After that point it had been a battle of wills.

Mycroft could make out some of what John was saying to Sherlock as at a young age he had learned to lip read, as had Sherlock. "I'm your friend Sherlock, I'll always be here for you, I promise. I will not abandon you." Sherlock's arm moved slightly and judging by the surprised look on John's face Mycroft knew Sherlock had taken his hands in search of some kind of comfort. Mycroft smiled in the knowledge that his brother had finally found someone he trusted. He wished that it could still be him Sherlock trusted because what John had said was true of Mycroft. He would always protect his little brother. If he couldn't do it directly he would do it by making sure someone else did it on his behalf. At that moment Mycroft was truly thankful for Dr John Watson.

**You can stand under my umbrella**

**You can stand under my umbrella**

Mycroft looked at his infuriating brother in disbelief; he'd called his brother about a case. Of course at first Sherlock had resisted but a few words from John and a promise that he too would attend got him there. Now however it was pouring with rain. John had a rain jacket on and Mycroft had his umbrella but Sherlock, Sherlock had his usual attire, long jacket and suit, neither of which provided much protection against the heavy rain but he stood there stubbornly.

"Come on Sherlock, don't be stupid, there's enough room for you under here," sighed Mycroft.

"I'm perfectly fine here," stated Sherlock obstinately. "A little water never killed anyone."

"That may well be but this is more than a little water," stated John. "Just share the umbrella with him until this passes over."

"John, there is around 326 million trillion gallons of water on the earth, comparatively this is very little."

"That may well be but this rainfall exceeds the norm for our climate now just get under that damn umbrella."

"Are you actually agreeing with him John?" asked Sherlock horrified at his friends treacherous behavior.

"Yes Sherlock, I am. I do not want to be treating you for hypothermia, I cannot imagine you would recover quickly and you are annoying enough when you are well, I do not want to have to look after you when you are sick if it can be avoided."

Sherlock considered this for a moment. "I will never fraternize with the enemy John."

"Sherlock, just get under here won't you?" Mycroft practically shouted.

"Nobody is expecting you to make friends with him, just share an umbrella with him until the shower passes," commented John as calmly as he could.

"Would you make me share an umbrella with Moriarty?" asked Sherlock impetuously. John groaned and rubbed his temples, he was sure he could feel a head-ache coming on when an idea sprung into his head and he looked up quickly. "If you don't go under it I will remove all experiments from the flat." Sherlock's eyes narrowed and Mycroft smiled.

"You wouldn't dare," Sherlock challenged John.

"Try me." Sherlock stared at him, trying to make him back down but the soldier in John was coming out.

"Fine," said Sherlock and he continued to grumble about a traitor and something about revenge. He stalked over to Mycroft and unexpectedly snapped the umbrella out of his hand and walked off leaving his older brother to get soaked.

These fancy things,

Will never come in between

You are my entity

Here for infinity

When the war has took its part

When the world has dealt its cards

If the hand is hard

Together we'll mend your heart

Mycroft looked concernedly at his younger brother as he walked off, stoic as always. The elder of the two Holmes' was kicking himself. Sherlock had tried to express some emotion, some regret for the passing of someone he had some semblance of caring for

"They all care so much; do you ever wonder if there is something wrong with us?" Once again it was the little boy that used to crave his elder bother's love and attention, the boy Mycroft had wanted to see for so long. For once he had the opportunity to comfort his brother but what had he replied?

"All lives end, all hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage… Sherlock." He could not fathom why he had said it; he instantly regretted it as the emotions were instantly covered up, never to be seen again. And he'd taken the cigarette dammit; he'd been doing so well too. He had to call John, John Sherlock trusted and John was the only man who could help him.

You can run into my arms

It's okay don't be alarmed

_The young Mycroft nearly screamed when he saw what was locked in the tiny cellar. They'd thought Sherlock had run away, nobody knew why but Sherlock had always been an odd child. He'd not been seen in a fortnight, ever since their uncle had moved in next door. That evidently had not been the case judging by the bloodied state the small child was in. During the police searches and the distraught state of his parents Mycroft was spending a lot of time at his uncle's. His quick mind soon picked up that the man spent an inordinate amount of time in his cellar and one day, when his uncle was out, he plucked up the courage to see what was down there. The horrifically thin child held out his hands and began crying. Not needing another cue Mycroft ran to him and embraced him feeling every bone beneath his now near-translucent skin._

Sitting up suddenly as he awoke from his recurring dream Mycroft let out a slow breath. He hated remembering, and especially reliving the darkest time of his and his brother's childhood. A time Sherlock had never quite recovered from. The dreams had become more frequent ever since he'd let Moriarty go, he felt as if a darker time was speedily approaching.

Told you I'll be here forever

Mycroft slowly lowered to newspaper which reported his brother's death. For the first time in years he felt like crying, the death of his brother, the child he had sworn to protect even before finding him in that cellar, was his fault. He had killed his brother. This time there was no going back, no chance at forgiveness. Sherlock was gone and Mycroft was cursed to a long life in that knowledge, a life without his brother.


End file.
